


Seven

by Nuredhel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Seven Deadly Sins, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuredhel/pseuds/Nuredhel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven Deadly sins...Middle Earth style. Seven different views on the possible outcomes of the effect of these seven sins on various characters from Tolkiens world. Short tales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acedia

**Author's Note:**

> The first sin... Sloth!

Acedia

He was tired of it, dead tired. The captain was always nagging, nagging and nagging and…He wished that he could slit Arzab’s filthy throat but he was just a mere soldier, and the captain was an ancient orc, big and strong and vicious. He wished he was like Arzab, oh then he would be the scourge of Arda for certain. 

He wasn’t that lazy, he just liked to relax, there was no point in stress no was there? They were safe there and keeping an eye on the surroundings were boring, It was way more fun thinking of ways to torture his captain, nag nag nag. Glob this, Glob that, bring me my weapons, bring me food, wash my feet. By the dark one, he would get even one day and that day would go down in history as a mighty vengeance worthy of a place in the legends. Oh, he would pull Arzab’s guts out and strangle him with them, it would be wonderful. 

He leaned against the warm rock and grinned, his left leg ached after a vicious kick from the captain and he snarled and wished that he had had the courage to skewer that filthy scum right there and then. And now this, keep watch, yeah right, It wasn’t his fault that his comrades had managed to capture this elven wench and that they all were having so much fun with it, not that Glob was in any way envious, he didn’t find elven females attractive at all, they were too skinny and fair skinned and there was little meat on them too. No, a real orc wench, that was the thing for him. With thick coarse hair, piercings and tattoos and scars everywhere, with hanging breasts and dark skin and broken fangs, oh he had his favorite and she was marvelous. The dream of any orc male, so vicious in battle, so grim and her vocabulary? She could curse so bad he was sure the dark lord himself would go pale with envy. Glob wished she would notice him, but recently she seemed to favor Arzab, one more reason to strangle him with his own guts. 

Glob sat by the rock, dreaming of the not so fair wench of his dreams, he never saw that two shadows that crept closer through the cracks of the mountain. If he had paid attention he would have, but he didn’t. He was too preoccupied with his vivid dreams of slaying Arzab and laying with Grazhna. He didn’t see the two elves that had followed their trail, didn’t see the dangerous glimpse in two pairs of identical wolf like silvery grey eyes. He though he heard a sound, turned his head and he didn’t have time to scream, he just stared down at the elven blade that sliced through his chest as if it was made from nothing but gossamer and air. His dreams were gone, as were he and the twins left not one orc alive as they fought to save their mother. Perhaps they ought to have thanked Glob before they killed him, for being too lazy to be a good sentinel.


	2. Avaritia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little greed for you...

Avaritia

It was wonderful, it was worth everything they had ever endured, every hardship and every death. It was beautiful, more so than anything else in this world, it’s tantalizing haunting quality such an intoxicating sight. He couldn’t get enough of it, oh how he loved it, all of it. 

Every coin, every little jewel, every pearl, every bejeweled chalice. It was his, it was a part of his soul, watching it grow year by year was more heady than any mead, it brought such joy. It brought a joy he never had felt otherwise, a joy his wife nor his son could ever compare with. It was indeed a part of his divine right to rule, and he wanted to stay there, to never leave it behind. His duties as a king were not as important as the golden sheen of gold, as the twinkling light of jewels. And yes, he knew that the others envied him but it meant nothing, for it was his. It was a part of his very being, his identity, and yet it called out to him, softly and longingly and he couldn’t stay away from it, not even in his sleep. 

He coveted more, more, oh so much more. They dug deep, they dug night and day, brought more and more up from the bowels of the earth and for every gleaming piece of gold his hunger grew. It made him shiver, made him tremble, made him desire it to a degree that lead him to forsake other pleasures. He ate and drank but only because he had to, every waking hour he was spending with the treasure, every thought he had circled around it, its safety, its growth. Oh they were all wealthy, they all wore the best cloth, the best jewelry. The beards of their daughter’s and wives decorated with rubies and emeralds. Indeed his kingdom was grand, indeed it was blessed, it was shadowing the other realms, even the darn thin blooded lanky elves bowed to his might. 

They bowed to Thror, king under the mountain, the lord of Erebor. He smiled and caressed a golden statue, his eyes gleaming with a burning desire, a yearning for more gold, it filled the lower halls, but it could never be enough, he would ensure that it would keep growing. He lifted his head, what was that racket? His grand treasure shouldn’t be disturbed? He frowned, screams? Were perhaps the elves attacking, that ghost of an ellon Thranduil wasn’t trying to reclaim those bright jewels of his now was he? Thror heard more screams, a thundering sound, then the words reached him. “ Dragon, a dragon has come.” 

He felt the gush of heated air, felt his stomach drop. So this was the end, and they had been right. His mind reeled, could it be saved, could the dragon be vanquished? As his grandson dragged him away his only relief was that none other would be able to claim the treasure, it would forever be guarded by a dragons flames and claws and teeth.


	3. Gula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being overly fond of Food is not such a good thing now is it?

Gula

It wasn’t his fault at all, actually it was Bofur’s fault, tossing that sausage. It was absolutely not his fault that the elves made such weak furniture, they couldn’t take the weight of a stocky dwarf warrior, only that of a prissy elf. He saw how they looked at him, with those strange eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared, well, they were of course not used to seeing the compact handsomeness of a dwarf. 

He got back upon his feet and brushed some crumbs of his clothes, one should simply enjoy what life brought of joys. To enjoy a good meal was after all such an innocent thing now wasn’t it? He saw that there were some stew left in the kettle and when he saw that none of the others were eying it he finished it. It was a sin to leave food to just go bad, he was well raised and his mother had always told him to finish his plate. And he always had. 

The others just didn’t understand his passion for food, they could never be good cooks like him, they would eat anything! No, he was not a gluttonous person, he just liked food, that was the core of that matter. That bench were just made to carry those lightweight elves, did they have any muscles at all by the way? They were thin as reeds, their women couldn’t really be much fun in bed, like laying with a stack of wooden boards. He bet they never had enjoyed the vigor of a real male, with hair and more than just skin over their bones. 

Hmm, was that another sausage? Oh yes, it was. Wonderful. Alright, he was a bit more than stocky but he wasn’t fat now was he? He was handsome, he had several children and his wife was all over him. And he did know how to fight, so why should his weight bother him at all? No, he wasn’t bothered. Was there more stew left? No? not even that strange elven bread? It tasted like sawdust but it filled you up, whence you had had a few of them, or seven or ten. 

He sighed and leaned against the wall, the elves only served food best served to rabbits, he would starve if they were to stay there for any length of time. Kili had left half of his dinner, eagerly he finished it all off, leaving food was indeed a sin.


	4. Invidia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh envy, how much torment and how many tears have it not brought through the ages?

Invidia

It was their undoing, it was their doom. What they had were turned against them, and they were blinded by their own ambition. They were the envy of all others, so why then had their own hearts been filled with such burning jealousy, such desire to claim what never had meant to be theirs? 

It was his words, his poisonous words that had spread malice and evil thoughts among the people, his words that had corrupted their king. They had done what nobody ever had dared, tried to invade the sacred land, sailed to Aman to claim what only the firstborn were granted, immortality. How that envy had burned in their blood, how it had churned around in their minds like an itch one cannot scratch. It was forever there, growing, feeding of their fears and ignorance like a leech. How he had nurtured that fear, made it grow until it became obsession, how sweet his words, how hollow his promises. See what they have, see what they can achieve, surely you deserve no less? Surely they ought to give you what is rightfully yours to claim? Go take it, show them you are strong, show them you cannot be made slaves to cower in front of them. Bring the Valar down, make them beg you for mercy. 

How could they have been so foolish? How could they have been so easily seduced? It had all been such a lie, poison masked as sweetness, as promises of a grand future. Now it was too late, the people of the island of Nùmenòr stared with disbelief at their doom, it was hurtling towards them, waves, impossibly tall, towering above the tallest towers. In their final moments many realized the depth of the deceit, what they had feared, what they had tried to avoid was indeed the gift of the one to his second born children and by trying to avoid it they had brought it upon themselves. When the sea once again fell calm there was nothing left, only the debris of a once great nation, seduced by its own fear, seduced by the longing to possess immortality, seduced by envy.


	5. Ira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anger, wrath, a fire more consuming than any other, and way more devastating than that of a dragon...

Ira

He stood there, stood there under a darkened sky and never before had he been more beautiful and never before had he been more terrible. The flame blazing in his eyes, how had they failed to see it before, had perhaps the light of the trees masked it? Had that shining light hidden more lies and deceit? The light of torches, how stunning it was on that night, how bright it shone. Like the flaming campfires back in the land they once had left behind. He promised to avenge their loss, he promised to pursue their enemy, and they listened. The wrath flaming in his gaze, how real it seemed, how raw and primordial and just right. The peaceful life had made them all dull, had lulled them into a state of passive acceptance. They emotions and their every deed had been just like that too, empty, shallow, impotent. Not any more. 

He stood there, listening to his father’s words and knew it was their doom, he knew to what end this would lead but also in him the rage was burning. That flame that was a part of their family, a part of their legacy. He felt it burning, a hatred so strong he thought it would strangle him. The enemy had slain his grandfather, had killed the trees, had stolen the Silmarilli. What else could a good son do but follow his father. His tongue was speaking the words, repeating his father and he knew he had sealed his fate. That his life never would be the same, that he now was pledged to that oath forever, like the pledges of a marriage. 

His father was shining, his sword raised against the darkness, so strong, so adamant. He felt his eyes filling with tears, they all swore the oath, all of them, even the twins who still were so young. He was so proud, and he was so afraid and then again, so terribly angry. The anger was tearing him apart, Morgoth had stolen his grandfather, and through his father’s anger fueled words also the future of them all. Why did this happen? Why this hatred, this rage, this wrath?   
He raised his sword to the skies, the flames of the torches made it look red, as if it was drenched in blood and a cold feeling filled his gut. Their doom was surely upon them from this moment on, the one thing left was to follow the path of destiny, to follow the lead of their father, of Fëanaro son of Finwë


	6. Luxuria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To feel desire...a thing of beauty and yet it Carries within it the promise of something very different, of something sick and twisted and just wrong...

Luxuria

So cold, so fair…Like moonlight over a midnight meadow, so frail. He was watching her, seeing her move across the great hall, her back straight and her long golden locks falling freely down her back. He swallowed, hiding in the shadows, not wanting to be seen. So beautiful, how far above him. But not forever, no, she would be his. 

It was a promise, and he was doing all that he could to please his master. He would be able to pick whoever he wanted, and he wanted her. How he coveted her, how his mind was tormented by her cold glares and her openly shown disgust when he was near. He tried to soften her up, he tried to say the right words, do the right things. It didn’t work, she hated him. 

He was thinking about her every night when he took himself in hand, how he wished that he was one of the riders of the mark, tall and fair and handsome. He would stalk her from the shadows, watch her every step, following her like a pack of wolves hungrily stalks a wounded deer. 

But he was nothing like the riders though, his only weapon was his mind and the powers his master had given him, but once he too had been a man of Rohan, he had had his pride, his honor. Now even that was taken away from him and he was naught but a pawn, a slave, crawling on the floor, begging for scraps from his master. But it would change, he would do all that he could to make sure that he pleased his master. 

And then she would be his, then she would be his bride, willingly or not. He would have her, he would take her and then she would see that he was no worm, no snake. Yes, she would learn to respect him and one day perhaps even love him. He saw her trying to speak to her uncle but he didn’t respond and he felt his lips stretch into a narrow grin. She was alone, soon she would be all alone, he was making sure that her protectors were being removed one by one. The king himself would be the last one. And then, then he would claim his prize, his cold beautiful shieldmaiden, his Eowyn.


	7. Superbia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What comes before a fall? Oh yes....Pride!

Superbia

It was over, it was lost. The great halls looked as if the walls had been crying and they had been crying blood. Those who had escaped had been in luck, the ground was covered with the bodies of those who were not so fortunate. Among them their king, their leader. It had been so sudden, so brutal and they had not anticipated this. That the Naugrim had been able to do this, slay their kin, slay their king. Their queen had escaped, but what would happen now? What would become of their great kingdom? What would become of their people? 

They walked among the corpses of the fallen, searching for their dear ones and the laments and sounds of grief were terrible, they had paid the price, the price of pride. They had thought themselves safe, stronger than their enemies. They had believed themselves to be superior. They had been wrong. Their king had been caught by his belief in their strength, in their right to rule and now he was dead. Because of the darn jewel, because of the darn necklace. The Nauglamir, the silmaril, cursed be that oath tainted thing. 

The dwarves had of course coveted it, they had claimed it and in his wrath and pride their king had tried to reclaim it. He hadn’t been able to see the danger, that dwarves of Nogrod could pose a threat, that they would dare to threaten his life. He had proudly wanted what he considered his, demanded it returned to him and he had with his steadfast and unwavering belief in himself and his right to rule and superiority awakened their anger.  
They had killed him, the great Elu Thingol and then sacked Doriath, the kingdom would forever be tainted with the blood of the innocent, the caves of Menegroth would forever be remembered this way, be considered as a place of slaughter. Pride comes before the fall, and so fell their great king.


End file.
